Stuck On You
by Imagination's Keyboard
Summary: The only reason he didn't kill me was because we were stuck with each other. Literally. But there could only be one victor, and I knew it was only a matter of time. CatoxOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: hey guys! This is my first story here on fanfiction and naturally I'd make it about Cato. I've always felt there was something more to his character than just pure evil, so this is my attempt of showing it without making him soft or unrealistic.**

**This chapter is set a little later in the story, so you might not understand everything now, but naturally I'll go back in the next few chapters to 'catch up.' If that even makes sense (LOL) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. If I did I'd be too busy vacationing on my private yacht to write fanfics**

**P.s. Make sure to review if you like it and want more. I wish I could read minds, but sadly that is not a gift I'm blessed with. Enjoy! **

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Today was, quite possibly, the best and worst day of my life.

As the ashes dwindled I attempted to drag to my scraggly body to its feet, but was met with more resistance than I could handle, collapsing back to the ground in a quivering heap.

Utterly spent, and covered head-to-toe in soot.

He was still beside me, the Herculean boy from District 2. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could hear his labored breathing as he wheezed for breath, trying to recover from our near-death experience.

"9." he rasped, turning his head towards mine. His blue eyes were electric, crackling with palpable rage and deadly promise, "Prepare to die a slow, gruesome death for that little stunt you just pulled."

I remained silent.

He threatened me.

That meant he hadn't noticed yet.

I watched with a sort of detached curiosity as he attempted to haul himself up, only to be hindered by some unknown force. He frowned, a deep ridge forming between the brows of his handsome, grit-caked face.

"The hell?" He hissed as he sat up and tugged his arm once again—only to find the action proved far more strenuous than it was supposed to. He continued to repeat the motion, each yank rougher and more savage than the next, cursing and swearing as the appendage refused to budge.

It was amusing to watch, and I felt my lips curling at his desperate antics. He, the revered warrior of the careers, resembled a trapped animal, complete with inhibited snarls and fruitless clawing.

I snorted, feeling a little smug.

It had been rather risky on my part, but it had worked.

_No matter how hard you struggle Cato, you won't break free._

Regardless, I knew better than to let him catch me grinning, and did my best to conceal it beneath my hand.

He noticed anyway.

"And just what the hell are _you_ smiling at 9?" He growled, skin coloring with rage. He looked two seconds away from snapping my neck, and I would have been terrified a mere five minutes ago, but the new twist of events emboldened me, giving me courage to for once speak the words on the tip of my tongue without restraint.

Lifting a patronizing brow, I quipped smartly,

"You _do_ realize that the repetition of the same action and expecting a different result is considered insanity right?"

There, I said it.

No sugarcoating.

No fear.

And Cato looked ready to tear me to pieces.

With deliberate slowness he reached for the machete at his hip, frosty eyes glinting murderously as he slipped it from his belt and rose his arm.

"That's it." He voice was lethal. Menacing. "You die here. _Now_."

_Pssh, as if._

I shook my head, enjoying the confusion twisting his expression at my perfectly calm demeanor. He was used to people cowering before him, begging for mercy, or running for their lives. Usually I'd be the latter, expertly evasive by nature, but he had driven me into a corner and I was forced to fight back.

And I'm glad I had—the look on his face was absolutely _priceless_.

"You might not want to kill me." I advised, pulling myself into a sitting position. I pointedly ignored how close his knife was to my face as I inserted casually, "Not if you want any chance of winning that is."

He face went rigid, almost as if he was struggling to contain his utter disbelief.

"And why the hell not?" He demanded stiffly, arm still raised. All his muscles were bunched and coiled, ready to deliver the finishing blow that would end my existence.

_Not today Gladiator Boy._

I didn't answer him with words, instead directing my eyes pointedly down his immobile arm, watching as he tracked their path from his defined shoulders, curling over his broad chest and skittering down his taut forearm to rest at his wrist.

His wrist that was slathered with a prickly green substance.

A prickly green substance that encased both our hands together in an intimate little cocoon.

His eyes darted to mine when he realized it, the widest and most thrown I'd ever seen them. He wasn't used to being outmanoeuvred, least of all by someone like me.

He swallowed, slowly lowering the machete a fraction.

"Who's to say I can't just slice your arm off?" He proposed. His gaze ensnared me, keeping me still as he searched for something, anything that would expose a possible weakness. He was a trained hunter. I was his prey.

I smirked.

But all his fancy training wouldn't help him now.

"Sure go ahead," I advised, gesturing to our infused limbs, "If you wanna lose yours too."

His stare was unrelenting.

"Explain."

I met his look boldly.

_Gladly_.

"This type of bacteria merges their captives' DNA while infused," I recited, remembering the passage from one of the Capitol textbooks I had flipped through. "Whatever I lose, you lose and vise-versa."

Cato was floored. I could see it in every courtier of his chiseled face as he finally dropped his knife, mouth slack as he eyeballed me warily. Like I were mentally unstable.

He was probably right.

No one in their right mind would have attempted what I had done.

I had trapped us together, binding our fates into one.

"Shit." The expletive was harsh as it puffed from his mouth. He clenched his free hand in his straw-colored hair, "Shit, shit _shit_!"

"Cato?"

He stiffened.

"Cato? You alive?" The same voice repeated. I recognized it, it was that homicidal Clove girl with the knives.

The one I had caught him in a compromising position with in the hallway before the parade.

Cato immediately scrambled to his feet, yanking me along behind him as he attempted to put some distance between himself and his district partner. Low branches scratched at my face and arms as we sprinted through the foliage, shins smarting when knocked harshly against various logs and rocks. The tip of my boot caught a stray root and I stumbled, slamming face-first into the earth and being dragged nearly ten yards before Cato noticed.

'_I bet the Capitol was having a field day with this_', I couldn't help but think sourly, face pressed firmly in the dirt. No doubt my ungraceful tumble had garnered quite a few laughs from the viewers.

Hopefully I didn't lose sponsors because of this.

"What are you doing 9?" Cato's deep voice was right beside my ear. I didn't get to answer however, because the next moment he had roughly grabbed my bicep and yanked me to my feet.

"Let's go." He snapped, tone threaded with such urgency I followed without question.

His reaction was beginning to unsettle me, especially when he started to ease us into a fast-paced jog. I stared at the back of the large boy's head, noting his hunched shoulders and the frantic way his head constantly swiveled from side to side.

He seemed almost..._nervous_.

I dug my heels into the ground, forcing him to stop and look at me.

When he noticed me not moving he glowered, giving our arms a sharp pull.

"Are you deaf 9?" He hissed scathingly. Even now his eyes refused to stay still, "I said we have to _go_. Does that word mean something different in your district?"

I ignored his barbs.

"Why are we running?" I demanded. We were headed in exactly the opposite direction I heard Clove's voice."Isn't she your ally?"

Hell, I thought they were together with the way she was grinding into his pelvis.

Cato's face darkened.

"Clove is ruthless," he murmured, mouth pinched,"Even for District 2. She wouldn't hesitate to kill us both after the predicament you put us in."

I scowled at him, not failing to notice the way he emphasized 'you.'

"Actually it's _your_ fault." I sniped, indignant—because _c'mon, really? _"If you weren't trying to kill me then I wouldn't have had to resort to this in the first place!"

Cato's expression at that moment could only be described as stupefied, like he couldn't quite believe the words had actually left my mouth. After a few moments of silence it became uncomfortable, and I had to stamp down on the reflex to fidget.

I couldn't show him any weakness.

"What?" I snapped, finally sick of his staring. It was doing weird things to my insides I didn't appreciate, especially since I hadn't eaten in nearly two days.

Cato scowled.

"Are you blind?" he hissed, throwing his arm out, "Saying some idiotic shit like that. Look around you. Look where we are. This is the fucking _Hunger Games_—I'm supposed to kill people! I want to _live_."

His words resonated deep within me, like that spear to my gut. Because damn, he was _right_. That was our only out. Our only hope of ever making it out of this horrible nightmare.

But that didn't mean I had to agree with it.

"Well," I quipped, having nothing to rebuff with, "As of now you can't kill me."

But I was bluffing.

There was no telling how long the bacteria would fuse us together. I was treading dangerous waters, as any minute my little victory could wear off, and then he'd slaughter me in cold blood.

I bit my lip, just the mere thought causing my stomach to bunch uncomfortably.

_How did it come to this?_

But to even begin answering that, I'd have to go back to the very beginning.

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**a/n: so what do you think? Remember to review!**

**~Imagination's Keyboard**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Hey everyone. I know I've been M.I.A. but a lot has been going on in my life (like preparing to graduate college) and things have been pretty hectic, leaving me little to no time to write. I was stressing like mad until a good friend of mine who is also on this site (Doe eyed dreamer, hey girl what's up?:)) told me that writing can actually help with that. And lo and behold, she was right! So i'm going bad and editing my chapters a bit before continuing with this story. **

**Thank you all who have reviewed and favorited already, as well as any new readers as well. I hope you enjoy it :)**

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Seventeen years ago, Jasper Jamenson and Wynona Crawley met.

They courted.

They fell in love.

They created me under the protective shimmers of moonlight—groans and gasps of pleasure drowned and scattered by the turbulent winds rolling up the hillside.

Grunts and moans.

Curses and screams.

Their intimacy hidden from prying eyes by the mountainous stalks of wheat surrounding them.

And as they became one, they whispered their desire into the other's mouth.

It was the night that changed their lives forever, and they decided to name me after it.

_Idiots_.

"Whisper!" Mom's voice was shrill and impatient from downstairs.

I didn't budge from my perch at my vanity, gazing detachedly at the girl in the mirror.

Her brown skin was flawless, lips painted a soft pink, and brown eyes wide and lathered expertly in mascara. Curly ringlets of dark hair framed her face charmingly, imitating autumn leaves falling in streams. She looked absolutely beautiful.

It was absolutely sickening.

"Whisper?" Mom's voice had gotten closer, and I turned in time to see her standing in my doorway, wearing one of her best dresses. Upon seeing me she clapped her hands giddily, cooing, "Why don't you just look _marvelous_."

I didn't answer, watching as she crossed the room to grasp my wrists, pulling me to my feet. I felt the material of the yellow dress swish around my ankles, and she released another delighted shriek.

"Beautiful!" She exclaimed, brown eyes shining, "I knew this dress would suite you, and fitting you should wear it on such a great occasion too!"

I cut my eyes at her.

Yeah, because having my name possibly drawn to participate in a killing spree was such a _great_ occasion.

Despite my thoughts I remained silent, not that mom noticed—she was too busy fussing with my sleeves and barking orders.

"Remember to smile," she was saying, "The entire thing will be on television and I don't want the Capitol to think District 9 is a bunch of stiffs!"

I nodded dutifully.

"Keep you're chin up!" She quipped as she herded me down the stairs. Dad was waiting for us at the bottom, looking prim and proper in his only suite. He smiled when he saw us, giving my mother a quick kiss on the mouth before frowning at me.

"Your chin is too high." He stated, reaching out to adjust it to what he deemed the proper angle. His fingers were rough and worn—a testament of his prolonged time spent in the fields. "It looks like you're trying too hard, the Capitol won't be impressed."

I grimaced.

_I don't care if the Capitol is impressed! _I wanted to scream. But couldn't bring myself to do it.

It wasn't as if my outburst would help anything. In fact, it would make things much, much worse.

We shuffled out the front door and were met with the signature humid winds District 9 was known for. I could already feel the sweat gathering on my brow, threatening to frizz my curly hair. Mother wouldn't be very pleased if that happened.

As if reading my thoughts she tusked, reaching into her dress for a handkerchief and wordlessly passing it to me.

"Such lovely weather!" She crooned and I felt nausea beginning to creep into my stomach when she and my father chuckled together.

Other families walked by with giant grins carved on their faces, chatting amiably with one another as they showcased their fancy-ish clothing. Children laughed and held hands. Lovers giggled amongst themselves and shared secret smiles.

I felt the bile rising up my throat and pressed the handkerchief firmly to my mouth.

It was disgusting, the way people acted around here.

District 9 was known as Panem's modern 'hippies', all sunshine, vibrant colors, and harmony. And our citizens took this role quite seriously. We were supposed to enjoy even life's smallest treasures, finding the good in every circumstance, and being content with the hand God had dealt us.

So the masses hummed together as they busily gathered wheat in the fields and made grain from dawn till dusk.

We enjoyed each other's company as we later treated our bloody blisters, and massaged our torn hands.

Remained joyful as we made our way to the reapings, basking in all the wonderful memories we had.

It was ridiculous.

What wonderful memories? We were _slaves_.

But I couldn't despise them for their ignorance, no matter now badly I just wanted to grab the nearest shovel and beat them all over the head with it. Because just like them, I had once been brainwashed.

The Capitol promised us peace and favor if we didn't stir strife, and the people eagerly agreed, doing their absolute best to impress. I was like everyone else, willing to sacrifice my dignity and freedom for the chance that one day we could be as prosperous as District 1 or 2. Then all our problems would disappear.

"The Capitol is so good to us." I constantly heard people say, and despite all the poverty, and the peacekeepers, and the Hunger Games I had successfully fooled myself into believing it.

Because it was easier to just let myself be deceived then face the reality.

We were all prisoners.

I was snapped out of my blissful little bubble the year my best friend was chosen for the Hunger Games.

Little Sandy was trembling as she made her way on stage, blue eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. Like the rest of the crowd I was cheering at the top of my lungs, but soon grew uncomfortable as slowly, her first teardrop fell. Then another. And another.

Suddenly I didn't feel like clapping anymore. I could only stare as the people around me hooted and hollered, screaming praises to the Capitol and hailing the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games Sandy ended up dying in.

At thirteen years old she didn't stand a chance.

It was different after that, like some wall had sprung up and was separating me from the rest of District 9.

I became withdrawn, not interacting with people and locking myself away in my room immediately after work was done.

_Peace_, they said.

_Harmony_, they stressed.

But now I knew better.

I had realized that as long as the Hunger Games existed, as long as the Capitol dictated our every move, there would never truly be peace.

But I couldn't vocalize it. If anyone knew of my thoughts I would have been disposed of by my own people.

"We can't have a cancer stirring things up around here and ruining our chances with the Capitol." I overhead a group of men discussing of Drew Wallenberg, a willowy boy who had mysteriously disappeared.

His body was found three days later, mutilated and hanging from a tree branch.

His death had petrified me into silence, and I became bitter on the inside, smiling on the out. A two-faced girl forced to live in a society brimming with cowards and cloaked in corruption.

Mom and Dad continued to chatter amongst themselves, only stopping when we reached the reaping destination. My father turned to me, grinning from ear to ear.

"Remember what we taught you Whisper." He said, but then something changed. Something switched and suddenly he was no longer my father, but a complete stranger. "No matter what, don't you put shame on this district ya hear?"

The words reverberated in my mind.

_No matter what._

Mom chose that moment to take back her handkerchief, fiddling with my dress collar before giving a wide smile. But it seemed different. Forced.

"Everyone has to make sacrifices," she said cryptically, then pulled me into a tight embrace. Stunned was beyond what I was feeling. My mother hadn't hugged me in years. "Sometimes few have to pave the way for the good of everyone."

She pulled back and I caught just the hint of moisture brimming her eyes before she and my father scurried away to the adult section. I could only stare at their backs as they left, feeling panic beginning to rise in my core.

_Why did she say that to me?_

_Why the hell was she crying?_

"Children! Children!" The unmistakable voice of Lottie Sunflower could be heard above the cheerful gatherers of District 9. "Please line up by age and gender and this year's reaping of the Hunger Games can officially begin."

There was a burst of cheer from the crowd and she smiled, overly made up face contorting freakishly. I'd be lying if I said the fashion of the Capitol didn't scare me. Lottie's skin was stained a vibrant pink, outfit consisting of every color the rainbow possessed, and topped with a tall hat brimming with sunflowers. Hence, the name.

I was jostled as everyone began to scatter, saying bye to their friends and families as they began sorting in their appropriate sections. I was frozen, watching as bodies flitted around me but didn't budge.

I felt sick.

"Move it Girlie," a harsh voice commanded, and I glanced up to see a peacekeeper standing before me, "Before I make you."

He reached for his gun and I gasped, but still didn't move. There was something wrong with me, my body wasn't cooperating.

The peacekeeper was scowling, I could see his skewed eyes through his helmet.

"I won't tell you again," he snarled, this time actually pulling his gun from its holster, "Get to your station or I'll be blasting your head off."

My heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and I struggled to move my legs, but they were stuck. Immobilized with fear.

The gun was rising. Pointing at my forehead. His thumb inched towards the trigger—

And I was suddenly shoved behind someone, my vision obscured by the ratty clothes covering his back.

"Forgive her please." My saviour was saying, "She's not all home...if you catch my drift."

The peacekeeper scoffed, glowering at me from over his shoulder.

"Fine." He hissed, lowering his weapon. "I'll only let it slide because District 9 usually doesn't give us any problems. But—"His expression became sinister "—keep your little girlfriend in check from now on eh? I'd hate to have to remove that pretty head of hers from her shoulders."

The boy was quick to agree.

"Yes sir. Of course."

My skin crawled when he openly leered at me, then left to keep the fourteen year old boys in line. The boy visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping as he released a shaky breath.

"Too close." I heard him mumble and instantly felt guilty that he had to risk his neck because of my stupidity.

"I'm really sorry." I told him earnestly and he turned, hazel clashing with brown.

My eyes widened.

_Oh my God he's Ethan Crossly._

"S'alright." He murmured, and in the the next instant he was walking away from me. His tattered, bland-colored clothing severely clashing with the sea of vibrant yellows and reds surrounding him.

"The reaping is about to begin!" Lottie was chirping, "Please line up. Hurry! Hurry!"

Her words snapped me from my trance, and I hustled over to the section marked _seventeen year old girls._ I chanced a glance to where I knew Ethan's section would be, only to quickly divert my eyes elsewhere.

He was already looking at me, and with an expression of knowing.

My body was growing cold regardless of the humid air, everything muting and colors mixing. Something wasn't right here. Ethan Crossly was supposed to be insane. He had been ever since his sister and best friend had been reaped back-to-back.

I had seen him myself, wandering the streets aimlessly and having one-sided conversations with his dead loved-ones. Screaming of conspiracies to anyone who happened to walk by. Yet, the Ethan I see now is alert and lucid.

And looking at me like we were in same boat.

I refused to look at him after that, but I didn't pay attention either. My mind was too consumed by the possibility that the town lunatic was quite possibly sane, and that he knew something was about to happen to me.

Something bad.

"And this year's girl tribute will be..." Lottie's voice rang out above the masses, but to my ears it was merely a dull whisper, "Whisper Jamenson, come on up!"

The world was smudging.

_What did she just say?_

"Whisper Jamenson?" She repeated, squinting into the crowd."Where are you?"

It was my name.

_I_ was this year's District 9 female tribute.

My legs moved purely out of instinct, separating me from the other girls and walking stiffly to the stage. I couldn't see concrete shapes, just colors as I slowly inched my way to my doom, and I realized it was because my vision was blurred with tears.

I was crying, sobbing silently to myself as two peacekeepers appeared and grasped my arms, expediting my trip to seal my fate. I nearly stumbled when my shins met the stage steps, but managed to right myself before I caused myself international embarrassment.

All of Panem was watching, I had to keep some sort of composure.

But even as I thought this my body began to tremble.

Nobody would take my place. I was going to die.

Lottie had her bony arm wrapped securely around my shoulder, and could feel just how badly I was shaking. The woman spared me a pitying glance before reaching for the boy's bowl.

"And this year's boy tribute is...Ethan Crossly!"

Ethan didn't look surprised in the least when his name was called, keeping his head down as he stalked up to the stage to take his place on Lottie's other side. The Violet-haired woman pasted a giant grin on her face, stepping forward and gesturing wildly back at us.

"And these are this year's District 9 tributes, everyone give them a big round of applause!"

The square erupted in ear-splitting cheers. I could only watch numbly as my district hooted and hollered. Danced and laughed. Waved banners and banged cymbals.

And then I saw my parents.

They were cheering along with everyone else, and my heart squeezed painfully. They looked as if their only daughter wasn't being sent away to be slaughtered.

_"No matter what, don't you put shame on this district ya hear?"_

_"Keep your chin up."_

_"Sometimes few have to pave the way for the good of everyone."_

My pulse stopped.

_No way._

My eyes shot to Ethan's and he nodded at my unasked question.

It was a set-up. I wouldn't be surprised if every slip of paper in that bowl had my name on it.

Ethan and I were this year's sacrificial lambs. Just two more stepping stones to get District 9 to its goal of becoming the Capitol's new lap dog.

Suddenly it made sense, how each year two individuals considered 'outcasts' were chosen to participate in the games.

It was because the citizens chose them because they felt they were disposable. The Capitol wouldn't have a clue if virtually the entire district was in on it.

My numbness was fading, slowly being replaced with something hot and scathing. It was bubbling from my stomach, spreading through my veins and heating my body to the core.

_Betrayal_.

My district. My parents. Had all written me off to die.

Before I knew what I was doing my body was propelling forward, staring in the faces of those I had worked alongside for my entire life. Looked my parents dead in the eyes. They couldn't hold my gaze.

_"Remember what we taught you."_

That did it.

I raised both hands in the air, relishing in the gasps and outrage of everyone around me. It felt good. I felt liberated.

I had flipped off my entire district on national television.


End file.
